After Escape
by awstinu
Summary: Not all in the military are good. There are some who are willing to do what they feel is needed for human and faunas survival in a world so hostile. This is not their story. It is the story of one of their creations, as he searches for safety after his escape, and tries to find meaning in a life that he has been told more times than he can count is not human. Off Hiatus :3
1. Prologue

Everything ached when he woke up. Bruises and cuts covered his body, testaments to the beatings he had received. This however, had been going on for three weeks, the point was to help develop a super-human tolerance of pain. Fitting, seeing as he wasn't human. He was a weapon, and the hell he was currently subscribed to wasn't torture, in the minds of his creator and wardens. It was simply breaking in a new weapon. A living one, that required careful grooming and training to reach its full potential, and hence worth, to its owners. Whatever living damnation they subjected him to was always intended to make him stronger, faster, smarter, tougher, more obedient to them as his owners. Becoming so was his only choice. If he didn't adapt, didn't grow, he would die. No one would care, he would just be another failure that didn't make the cut. His corpse would be incinerated or reused along with the hundreds of other kids who fell to the program. Another sacrifice for the future of both human and faunas alike. It wasn't like he mattered though, he had no mother, no father, but was created in a test tube. Born from D.N.A of a huntsman and huntress that assisted in the program, smashed together in a machine, he was one of over a thousand "siblings" created and held together in cramped quarters. With such an endless supply of test subjects, the program aimed to create a super soldier, using chemicals alongside physical and mental training. Mortality rates of the subjects were extremely high, by this time he was one of only ten percent of the original batch that had survived. The rate of death could not phase the project overseers, and things learned from experimentation on each batch were applied to subsequent had he lived for five pain laden, chemical filled, mind breaking years. So would he continue to live. Even at five years however, he was tougher and more mentally developed than some adults, courtesy of the program. And as the cell door opened and he was dragged out of the room filled with dead and dying subjects, left as a form of psychological toughening and desensitizing, he remembered his goal. Escape. Not stupid enough to hope for revenge, he would feign obedience until the day he was free. His goal kept him alive. Gave him resolve.

The last thing one of the dying subjects saw before passing, was the look of grim determination in his eyes, as the doors shut behind him.

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 **Okay, so the prologue has been updated you see... not by much. the biggest thing is that i made it fit the style i'm going to be using more and that i'm sticking this disclaimer in here, I do not own RWBY**


	2. Chapter 1-Preparations

It was time.

Plans were in place, support had been garnered, and an insider had pledged their assistance.

They may not be humans, but they were going to escape, tonight.

To his left and right each, was one of the seventy "Spartans" that had survived from the first batch. Having undergone insane and inhumane training as well as chemical augmentation, there was only a one in 100 chance of any of the first batch surviving to their age, most of the batch died between creation and five years of age, and another great dying took place after chemical augmentation.

Each of them was fifteen years of age and already easily capable of killing a man. Of course none of them were stupid enough to try; it would mean certain death for nothing. The automatic security systems insured that.

The plan they had developed for that night, was three years in the making. It took the participation of the entire first batch, and a few members of the second, along with an insider. A doctor by the name of Belevarde had been disgusted by the program. Initially he saw them as nothing but living machines, but after watching them cry at night and struggle to survive, he became disgusted with himself. This did not go unnoticed, at least not by the Spartan that was determined to escape. Said Spartan, while being transported to the punishment cell for starting a fight, had been able to talk to him, as his job was the medical examination of living Spartans.

"Name?" Belevarde went through the standard procedures.

"A-3045." Forty five responded.

"Test group?" Belevarde continued.

"Sigma"

It was then that the doctor noticed forty five was biting his thumb. Never having seen this before, and being required to document new information, he simply watched. Forty five bit down hard, enough to shave off the tip of his thumb, and began to draw on the floor in front of him. Conversations with doctors were always recorded for cataloguing, and while the punishment cell did have a camera, it did not have a built in microphone and only one camera view. There wasn't much that could go wrong in the punishment cell, and no one wanted to listen to some mouse scream on and on.

With his back to the camera, forty five was writing a message for the doctor, reading "would you help us?"

The doctor simply gave him a quizzical look.

Forty wrote "we need an insider, if you're in, blink twice"

Belevarde thought, about how he wanted to repent for participating in the program, about how he was never allowed to leave, and how he had no friends or family, the grimm having seen to the latter and his co-workers disgusting him too much for the former.

His eyes were beginning to sting from being open so long. He thought, "To hell with it. If I help I might be able to make of for the wrong I've done, and whatever it is these kids want, they wouldn't be stupid enough to send me on a suicide run." He blinked. Twice.

Forty simply responded with, "someone will contact you" before wiping out the blood with his wrist.

"Get in the chair" the doctor ordered.

Forty sat in the chair knowing what was coming. It didn't take long before the needles came, and with them came the pain.

The punishment room was actually a pain endurance test chamber, designed to both measure the level of pain tolerance a Spartan already had, as well as raise it higher over time. The minimum amount of pain possible with the syringe inserted chemical would leave a regular human in a coma for a day or two. Forty's dosage would knock out an elephant. That didn't matter. They had their guy on the inside.

The next three years showed an increase in aggressiveness towards each other among the Spartans, and the punishment room was still the preferred method of disciplinary action. What the institute didn't know was that it was a sham, the Spartans were fighting to be sent there and converse with Belevarde. Launching a long and extensive smuggling operation, everything from guns to computers was smuggled in. Piece by Piece. Microchips at a time. It was a testament to the intelligence of the Spartans that they were able to reassemble it all without notice, without diagrams, and successfully hide it.

All of this preparation and hard work, all the pain, was for one single day. A day were they could count themselves lucky if any of them, even one, survived.

That day, was today.

Or night to be precise.

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 **Okay, so I'm back on this story, and back in general. The next chapter for this story will be coming out either tonight or tomorrow morning. Thank you for being patient ^u^**

 **And disclaimer, I do not own RWBY.**

 **See ya :3**


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